


The Fourteenth Day of the Second Month

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joanlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan and Sherlock do not celebrate Valentine's Day. Light joanlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fourteenth Day of the Second Month

Sherlock and Joan knew what day it was but it was of no import. Not the type to celebrate nor even acknowledge "holidays" of this sort, the plan for the evening was the same as any other day - dinner and work. They were between cases and were taking the opportunity to revisit unsolved mysteries. 

\------

Joan hurried to finish. Sherlock would be back soon. Grandma Watson had handed down to her an old family recipe for scones that she had been wanting to try. She thought Sherlock might enjoy them. Not that she was making them for him. No. She just hadn't baked in a long time and wanted to see if she could do justice to the recipe. That's all. Looking down at the pan full of dough, she wondered if she had put in too much sugar; he wasn't keen on things being overly sweet. 

Joan pushed the scones into the oven just as Sherlock walked in with a large canvas sack of groceries. 

"What a mess..." He scanned the flour-dusted counters and the table sporting bowls and spoons, littered with odd-shaped lumps of dough, squashed berries and what appeared to be tea leaves. "Are you attempting to bake something?" The incredulous tone of his voice and the surprised look on his face irked her.

"I'm cleaning it up right now." She waved the sponge in her hand menacingly at his face. "I'm making scones. Keep up that attitude, and you won't get to try them."

Sherlock found a spot to put down his groceries. "No offense intended, Watson. No offense," his voice betrayed a hint of amusement. He reached into the tote and produced a cellophane wrapped bunch of flowers which he thrust in her direction. "Here."

Joan could not have been more surprised if he had held a live octopus before her. "What's this?" She took the flowers carefully from him and studied them.

Sherlock put on his best blasé face. "They're flowers. Someone handed them to me in the bodega." He omitted the detail of his having handed this same someone money in exchange for the flowers. Worried about her reception of his impulsive purchase, he stole a surreptitious glance in her direction. 

A smile spread over her face as she looked at the bouquet. "Daisies! They're my favorite."

A relieved Sherlock turned his attention to the rest of the groceries as he spoke, "That's nice ... I guess." His tone was a studied disinterest.

She shot him a small smile which he caught and tried not to return before walking towards the fridge. Joan busied herself finding a suitable container for the bouquet. Flowers were an unheard of occurrence; a large pitcher would have to substitute for a vase.

"What else did you get?" Joan peered into the bag.

"I thought we could have tapas tonight, eat Spanish style - small plates of shrimp in garlic sauce, grilled peppers, cheese, olives..." As he spoke he took the items out of the bag. "I'll set dinner up in the library and we can work that cold case while we eat. I even got some non-alcohol red wine that Diego said was quite good." She was standing closer than he realized and brushed against her as he placed the wine on the counter. 

"That sounds excellent." Joan looked pleased. Sherlock's chest puffed out ever so slightly at her approval. They looked at each other in happy silence; their gaze lingered a little too long. In fear of revealing the feelings sweeping through him, he broke the gaze and looked down. Joan likewise hastily turned to wipe down the counter by the sink.

"I'm glad I told Ms. Hudson no." He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "While you were out she called and invited us to an impromptu dinner. I hope you don't mind I said no for both of us?" She was feeling suddenly insecure; had it been presumptuous to answer for him. 

"Good! Thank you. I have no desire whatsoever to socialize." He nodded his sincere approval at her actions.

Joan was relieved. Ms. Hudson was having a lonely hearts club dinner for all those without a date on Valentine's Day. She didn't bother giving Sherlock all the details.

\------

A hot, full blaze of a fire burned in the library hearth; a blanket was spread before it. The empty glasses and tapas dishes were set to the side, while the neglected cold case was relegated to a spot even further on the periphery. 

Joan and Sherlock sat cross-legged on the blanket facing each other, almost knee-to-knee, locked in a trivia battle. Dishes and pans needed washing downstairs and they decided whoever lost this competition would be responsible for cleaning up. He gave her medical questions to answer, while she tested him on criminal matters. They were enjoying the game almost as much as the meal.

"Come on, Watson. You know this." She was currently stumped and he was cheering her on. Her head was bent down and her eyes closed as she scoured through every file in her brain, searching for the answer. Sherlock leaned in closer and pushed at her knee with his closed hand, "Do you want a hint?"

"Nooo." Joan pounded on his hand with hers in frustration. "Give me a minute. Let me think." Her head shot up, she grabbed his forearm and looked at him with a triumphant smile. "Joseph Lister!"

"Well done!" He smiled at her success and gave her hand a congratulatory shake but then held on not wanting to let go. Her eyes met his and stayed there. When she finally spoke, Joan's voice was softer, the words a little slower, "My turn to ask you... Okay ... Let's see ..."

He watched the firelight dance across her face, bringing her freckles into view and then sending them into shadows, her dark eyes speckled with orange flame. Joan too was getting distracted by the firelight ... how it changed the color of his eyes - greys then blues then greens... She felt herself falling into them ...

A loud banging on the door made them both jump. Whoever it was, impatiently knocked again before either of them could get up to answer. A very irritated Sherlock stood and went to the door.

They came through the door, laughing, with scarce an invitation, Ms Hudson and Alfredo stood at the threshold of the library. Joan rose to greet them.

"Our little get-together broke up early, so Alfredo and I thought ..." Ms. Hudson took in the darkened room, the blanket and fire, the look on her friends faces and realized she'd made a mistake; her assumptions about Joan and Sherlock were way off. Her demeanor changed in mid-sentence. "I'm sorry to barge in. We were sad at the thought of you two working alone on Valentines and came to save you." She smiled. Alfredo looked apologetically at Sherlock. Ms. Hudson continued. "We brought you these. They're mystery chocolates. We've been having fun guessing the flavors and uh .... Anyway...I ..."

Alfredo saved her, "You know, Lee, I forgot. We were supposed to stop by Teddy's place ... Remember?" He looked at Ms. Hudson trying to prompt her. "To pick up that .... thing. Remember?"

"Oh .... oh, yes! Yes! The thing ....we'd best go, right? Sorry to rush off." She handed Sherlock the red silk confectionary box. She waved good-bye to Joan and they were off as quickly as they came in.

Sherlock stood utterly confused by the comings and goings but ultimately thankful they had gone. Joan sat back down by the fire and he joined her, chocolate box in hand. 

He opened the box and looked at the contents and then at Joan. "What say we change our competition up a little, hmm?"

Joan looked at him wondering what he was up to. The chocolates were perfectly square pieces of art, decorated with squiggles of red or yellow, some sprinkled with powders of varying hues of rose and sky blue. 

He continued. "If you can guess the ingredients in one of these, you win. I'll do the cleanup."

She distrusted the easiness of the competition, but wanted to test her palate. And those chocolates looked amazing. "Okay. Sounds fair enough ... I guess."

He gave her one of those patented Sherlock looks, raised eyebrow, tilted head. "Alright, let's see ... let's try ... Wait." He looked at her. "Close your eyes. I don't want you to have a visual clue as to the possible contents."

Joan rolled her eyes at him, but then closed them. She waited.

He chose a rust-red dusted piece, put it before her face, and touched her lips with it. "Open." 

She parted her lips and he gently pushed the small square in. He watched her take the chocolate into her mouth, accepting it with eyes closed. His fingers lingered and brushed gently across her lower lip with the excuse of wiping a wisp of powder from it.

Joan kept her eyes closed enjoying the sensation of the dark chocolate on her tongue and his finger on her lips. Warmth spread through her and her body relaxed. She could feel his face close to hers and she opened her eyes and met his. The look on his eyes made her almost forget the exquisite sumptuousness of the chocolate that was melting in her mouth. She rolled the gooey sweetness with her tongue as he watched entranced. 

When she finally spoke, her voice was breathy and low, "Dark chocolate, 72% cocoa .... coffee, dark roast ... cayenne pepper ..." 

Sherlock's face radiated pride and adoration at her pronouncement. His fingers still close to her face, moved to touch her cheek as his eyes moved from her eyes to her lips, incrementally drawing near. His touch, his look, his nearness forced a surge through Joan that moved her towards him. Her lips brushed across his, prompting the slow movement of his cheek across hers. She pulled back to look into his eyes, their noses gently rubbed, his hand cupped her face and brought her slowly towards him until his lips caressed hers in a tender kiss. Joan returned his kiss and returned it again and then once more. A flame between them ignited; lips parted and joined in passion. Her hands found the back of his head and pushed him closer. He finally dragged his lips away from hers, going back for one small taste of her lower lip before resting his forehead on hers. She watched his mouth slightly curl before he spoke, "Italian roast, espresso coffee, New Mexico cayenne peppers .... "

Joan giggled and pushed her head forward onto his shoulder. "You win." 

He replied at her ear, "Hopefully, we both do." His hand threaded through her hair as he found her neck and nuzzled. She stopped laughing and clenched him tighter, exhaling a soft moan, desire undulating through her.

Someone knocked loudly at the door causing both of then to pull slightly apart. They ignored the intrusionand moved towards each other once more. The second knock was louder and coincided with a text on Joan's phone. Sherlock reached for it and handed it to her, dropping his head forward. 

"It's Gregson. He's at the door and needs to talk." Joan looked at Sherlock apologetically and moved to stand up.

Sherlock stopped her, "I'll let him in." He said the words reluctantly as he stood, tucking his shirt. He scrunched his face at her, "I messed your hair uh, up a bit." He motioned rather embarrassed at her. She smoothed her hair as he went to open the door.

A very inebriated Gregson leaned in the doorway. "Hi." He swayed a little, his watery eyes looked past Sherlock. "Is Joan here? I was hoping to uh, talk to her."

Sherlock sighed. They would not be able to get rid of Gregson as easily as their previous guests. "This way, Captain."

A composed and put together Joan stood in the library. She'd turned the lights on.

"Hi, Joan. I'm sorry for bothering you." He dropped onto the sofa dejectedly. "I had a rough night, I thought I could get some advice ... you being a woman and you know ...... a counselor or companion ... at least you were ..." Gregson was losing his train of thought. 

Joan looked at Sherlock who stood in the doorway, wiping his face with his hands in frustration. He looked pleadingly at Joan. And she returned his look with a slight shrug of her shoulders and a sympathetic look towards their guest. Sherlock's shoulders dropped as he gave in. "Why don't I go start a nice big pot of coffee for us, hmm? I think we might have scones too if you're hungry."

"Thanks." Gregson's blue eyes were teary with sadness. Joan gave Sherlock a thin lipped smile of appreciation and turned her attention to the Captain.

"I made the mistake of dropping in on Cheryl tonight ... Just wanted to see her you know ..." Joan sat next to him and listened. 

Sherlock made his way downstairs. He checked his watch. It was now the fifteenth day of the second month. Not that it really mattered.


End file.
